Night and Day
by Killpurakat
Summary: In space, what really are night and day but concepts you define yourself. Ficlet looking at how each character aboard the Bebop handles getting sleep.


Night and Day: A _Cowboy Bebop_ fanfic

By: Kami Kat

Okay, I can't really explain _why_ I wanted to write a _Cowboy Bebop_ fanfic, I just know I did. I didn't even have a story line or anything in my head until I started writing this. Brief ficlet at best.

Disclaimer: Yeah, right. If I owned _Cowboy Bebop_, you can bet Ed would have had more screen time! Ein too!

* * *

In space, certain things, certain realities, could cease to exist.

Gravity was one. A flick of the switch and suddenly everything was weightless.

Weather was another. There was only "still air" in a spaceship. Technology had developed to the point of making sure it was not _stale_, and fans and engines could make it move, but the air inside always felt the same.

However, perhaps the most important thing to all living creatures (after air, water, and food) was sleep.

And sleep took on new meanings in space.

Granted, sleep was nothing new, or even difficult to attain. In fact, a lack of gravity greatly helped. And not having a raging storm pelting the walls didn't hurt either.

But the concepts of night and day, so closely associated with sleep, were lost in space. No rotating planet equaled no day or night.

Which equaled a damned freaky sleep schedule.

Really, though, bounty hunters kept irregular hours anyway. So it wasn't surprising that each crew member of the _Bebop _kept their own hours.

What was surprising was how much of each crew member was reflected in his or her sleep.

Jet, an ex-cop, had the most orderly and rigid schedule. While it was true he would put in the time for a good-sized bounty, or to fix or upgrade his _Bebop_ (especially if the upgrade would later help catch a nice bounty), he would always make time for sleep. When he had been on the beat, sleep sometimes made the difference between the shot that grazed a convict and the one that immobilized him; he never even considered going without it.

Unfailingly, he made sure to sleep nine hours in every twenty-five hour period. (Twenty-five was a round number, and he recalled reading somewhere that humans naturally took to that time period. Besides, in space people made their own days and nights.)

Faye was flightier, more likely to gamble with her sleep. Day and night were fluid concepts at best when ship-bound, and she saw no reason to limit her definitions by throwing freedom away and adding in rules and regulations.

Besides, sleep always felt better after catching a juicy bounty (with dreams of the race track to sustain a person while resting), and the thought of a large bounty close by, alone and for the taking, was a better wake up call than even the strongest coffee.

Ed was smart, very smart. She knew exactly what night and day were (after all, she had lived on Earth at one point), but that mattered even less to her than the dirty laundry (why did people take off their clothes when they needed to wear something anyway?). No, for her, there was the time she needed to be awake because her body wanted to play and her mind needed to work on all the delightful mysteries concerning dumb bounty hunters, and the time she needed to sleep because her body wanted to rest and her mind wanted to play in the dreams.

Her mind never rested.

The mind was a really complex computer full of infinite capabilities, and computers never needed to rest, so no way was Edward Wong Hau Pepelu Tivrusky the IV going to obey such a silly concept! She'd take a break, but only when she wanted to. Following her instincts was, at this point, instinct itself.

The one crew member to take serious note of night and day, Spike, was also the one most often planet-side. Granted, Faye took a trip down every so often, but Spike's planetary excursions included his good buddy, alcohol (in large amounts). And piercing natural light is a hangover's worst enemy. And more often than not, if a person drank during the "day," people were likely to notice and get on said person's case.

Little old ladies wielding stiff brooms had factored into more than one of Spike's nightmares.

However, crime and bounties rarely cared about night or day save for night's cover of darkness. No point in caring too much about such things. Better to go with the flow.

* * *

With such a diverse crew, Ein greatly appreciated when they were all hunting for the same bounty. When they were all in on a bounty, they focused together, worked together, and, as a result, slept at the same time.

Granted, as a dog he possessed the ability to sleep whenever he wanted to, but sometimes it was nice to have the ship to himself.

He knew the others were vital to the survival of the ship. Jet repaired it, sometimes with Spike's assistance; Faye and Spike supported it with their earnings, with Ed supporting them with knowledge. But to the little dog, it was more than just a ship.

It was home, and he was its protector. He patrolled the entire ship once a day at least, making sure everything seemed in working order (he'd caught a few rats and, once, a valve with an air leak while they were planet-side, much to the rest of the crew's relief).

So, when everyone else was asleep, he was Ein, Protector of the _Bebop_ and his crewmates, odd though they might be. He kept the peace and guarded his domain.

* * *

"Oh, man, he's making that sound again!" Faye grumped.

"What are you complaining about now?" Spike asked, sticking his head into the living area.

Faye huffed. "That dumb dog! He's yipping again in his sleep!"

"Ah, just let the mutt alone. He's just dreaming. Bet he's chasing something."

"Ein dreams of the _Bebop_!" Ed yelled, popping out of nowhere and disappearing just as quickly. Spike glanced at where she'd been, his eye twitching.

Faye snorted. "Whatever, it's annoying." She stood up and left. Spike glanced her way, then back at Ein.

"Wonder how Ed knows what Ein dreams about," he muttered before plopping down to watch _Big Shot_.

Ein opened one eye, grinned in his own canine fashion, and rolled over.

What else would he dream of?


End file.
